


Decorum, what's that?

by okaywhateverokayyes



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Flashback, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Light Angst, Loss of Sanity, M/M, Michael's POV, One-Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaywhateverokayyes/pseuds/okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: “Don’t tell me you came all the way here for a book.” Michael satirically asked, back to him. He bit down on his tongue when his voice began to hedge.He doesn’t get a moment to recollect as Alex appeared beside him, gently shoving the book against his chest, a smile playing on his lips as he replied unsurprisingly calmly: “Not a chance, Guerin.”





	Decorum, what's that?

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place when they are young-ones, probably during pre-pubescent times and where they had already settled into whatever they were before shit hit the proverbial ceiling.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

He tossed the book under his grip, the spine worn-out and receding, indicative of how often he had perused through it. Or more so of the state of which he had kept it under.

 

Michael held it up to Alex’s face, which does nothing but make Alex blink, undisturbedly.

 

“When are you not reading that?” He asked coolly, grabbing the book from under his clutch and thumbing his finger into the page that Michael had previously stared at. He gave a quick skim, his eyes wavering tenderly over the words, as he too was familiar with the text as Michael had been.

 

Michael could only stare at him a little helplessly; rubbing his hands together as to thaw his brisk nerves. He inhaled through his nostrils and exhaled through his pursed lips, still half-sitting up with his arms still rested tightly on his lap.

 

Fire was licking the base of Michael’s skull. He kept his stern gaze on the bench in front of him. He pressed his feet into the board, dulling the edginess that threatened to wreak into his composure.

 

From where he sat, Alex wore a calm, guileless stare. He ran through the pages, immediately absorbed by the allegories that had also engrossed Michael.

 

He swallowed thickly. For a moment, the rational part of his mind felt strangely bereft. Only his feelings kept at bay and thoughts tempered by the lack of words said between them.

 

It was strange, he admitted, how silence never consumed them. There was so much to be said and yet, it felt expressed by their proximity and tendency to convey _everything_ without having to say _anything_.

 

Almost like an abstract channel bridged the two of them and provided the means to be absorbed by each other’s thoughts and emotions.

 

Alex laughed quietly under his breath, eyes intent and jovial by what he had read. His eyes crinkled at the corners, humming softly as he flipped over to the page. He relaxed further, Alex’s thigh now pressed against his own.

 

Michael felt an easiness that perforated every fiber in his body. Although his nerves incinerated under his touch, they were subsequently softened by the mere presence of him.

 

Trying to rescue a decorum of balance, Michael let out a faint chuckle that buried his greed to _do more than sit beside him;_ the craving festered from within and had him faltering inside. He pushed from off of the railing when he recognized that he was unable to stifle the urge and steepled his fingers to try to make them stop trembling.

 

“Don’t tell me you came all the way here for a book.” Michael satirically asked, back to him. He bit down on his tongue when his voice began to hedge.

 

He doesn’t get a moment to recollect as Alex appeared beside him, gently shoving the book against his chest, a timid smile playing on his lips as he replied unsurprisingly calmly: “Not a chance, Guerin.”

 

Michael’s chest clenched. Was it just him that was struggling to be level-headed? He dropped his gaze and clamped down on his jaw, gritting down to repress his buckling groan. Because, _shit_. He clapped at his thigh, rubbing mindfully as he matched Alex’s pace.

 

He watched from where he treaded; Alex was lean, shoulders comparatively wider, his flesh on the verge of protruding from under the fabric of his shirt. Michael drew his brows inward, wondered when that occurred and how he was oblivious to that.

 

He halted unceremoniously as he tumbled into Alex, who had by then turned to face him, hands curled into Michael’s shoulders as to curtail the impending impact.

 

Soon lips are pressed against his, impatient and restless. Michael surprised, stilled as Alex directed him further into a backroad, gently pushing him against the brick wall. His back is pressed into the cement, the brunt of the slab cushioned by Alex’s arm, which was now rested behind Michael’s head as he used his other hand to clutch Michael’s jaw.

 

Michael stirred under the touch, which had Alex retract, breathlessly. His lips are bruised and cheeks flushed as he gazed directly at Michael. “What happened?” He prompted, slightly upset and understandably worried.

 

Michael glowered as he placed a hand between them.

 

“You’re annoyed.” Alex concluded, to which Michael responded with a pointed shrug. “Why?” He pressed, quietly. Michael cowered under his gaze, feeling warmly smothered and powerless next to him.

 

How was Michael to tell him that he felt overwhelmingly hopeless and lacking? That he was rendered immobile by something as slight as a touch and was unable to instantly recover. He was defenseless when it came to Alex.

 

And it paralyzed him.

 

“You’re annoying.” Michael mumbled under his breath, resorting to juvenile tactics as to avoid telling the truth.

 

A small, besotted smile lifted the corners of Alex’s mouth. His eyes softened swiftly.

 

Michael eyes widened as he gritted down on his jaw so to stifle the groan recklessly beckoning to escape his throat.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Alex suddenly gripped him tightly. He wasn't strong enough to stop Michael if Michael wanted to move them, but Michael was accustomed to accommodating him. He let Alex hold him in place. 

 

There was a touch of uncertainty in the way Alex dropped his hand from Michael’s face and stepped forward to rest his forehead against Michael’s temple, like there was a part of Alex still expecting to be rejected.

 

Michael’s heart was pounding in his side. He had contemplated momentarily on extricating themselves because if they started, _God_ , he didn’t trust himself to stop. _Alley, be damned. Daylight, be damned._

He rubbed his nose against Alex’s jaw, nudging him to look back at him. Michael knew that there were a few things he was coming to terms with; being unabashedly unguarded, selfishly indefensible and irrevocably acquiescent around Manes.

 

Who was he to object and fight temptation when it all would have amounted to futility. 

 

He was, _fucked_ , when it came to them.

 

Michael used his hand to tug Alex to look back up at him, only to be met with compliance. Alex, flushed and pink-cheeked beside him, sighed heavily, most likely embarrassed by his very own lack of composure.

 

Michael smiled gratefully. It felt relieving to see that they were both rendered debilitated around each other.

 

Michael cocked his head as he began to pepper Alex’s face with territorial kisses - his forehead, his, his cheeks, his temple, the bridge of his nose, his jaw-

 

Alex made a guttural groan. Michael closed his eyes momentarily as he offhandedly said to himself, “Fuck it.”  And then Michael slid his hand behind Alex’s head, buried his fingers in Alex’s hair, and tugged him into a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to learn more about what caused them both to become so miserable and insanely sad.
> 
> Tumblr: okaywhateverokayyes


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